"Une mouffette," I explained.

"Sounds good in French, but it stinks like plain old Texas varmint," said Kit, wrinkling his nose. "How 'bout we pick up the pace."

"Right." I was already panting from the steep climb.

At the top we crossed Pine, fol owed a serpentine dirt road to a cement staircase, climbed, took a hard right, more road, then another set of wooden stairs that shot straight up the escarpment.

By the time we arrived at the summit I was seriously thinking about defibril ation. While I paused to catch my breath Kit charged to the overlook. I waited for my heartbeat to descend from the troposphere, then I joined him at the balustrade.

"This is awesome," said Kit, squinting down a pair of brass pointers lined up on the McTavish Reservoir He was right. The view from the top is pure spectacle, a theater-in-the-round of a city in progress. In the foreground rise the skyscrapers and flats and smokestacks and church spires of downtown, beyond that the docks of the port and the city's main artery, the St. Lawrence River. In the far distance loom the peaks of St-Bruno and St-Hilaire, with the Eastern Townships at their feet.

Kit sighted down each indicator, and I pointed out landmarks I thought would interest him. Place Vil e-Marie. The McGil footbal field. The Royal Victoria Hospital. The Montreal Neurological Institute and Hospital.

The complex reminded me of Carolyn Russel and our conversation concerning the shunt. Thinking of Savannah Osprey brought the familiar twinge of sadness.

"Come on, Kit. I'l tel you what I've been up to."

We strol ed up broad stone steps, wending between bicycles lying on their sides, and settled on one of the wooden benches flanking the entrance to the chalet. Above us pigeons cooed softly in the heavy wooden beams.

"Where should I start?"

"At the beginning."

"O.K.", wise one.

What was the beginning?

"Quebec Province has the dubious distinction of hosting the only active biker war in the world right now."

"That Hel s Angels thing you talked about at Isabel e's dinner."

"Exactly. These gangs are fighting over control of the drug trade."

"What drugs?"

"Mostly cocaine, some pot and hash."

A busload of Japanese tourists appeared from the parking lot, worked its way toward the railing, then began photographing itself in varying combinations.

"I became involved about two weeks ago. Two members of the Heathens, that's a puppet club to the Rock Machine, were blown up while trying to bomb a Vipers clubhouse on the southwest side of the city."

"Who were the bombed-out bombers?"

"Twin brothers, Le Clic and Le Clac Vail ancourt."

"The Vipers are with the Hel s Angels?"

"Yes. The sniper who took them out was arrested -- "

"A Viper sniper. I like that."

"The sniper investigation led to the recovery of two of the bodies we discussed at dinner."

"The guys buried near the Vipers' clubhouse?"

"Yes."

"Where is this clubhouse?"